Page 88 of Unravelled
Torvyn fared no better, his entire body trembled, as if the magic in the air had turned his blood to molten metal.
Brahn leant against a pillar, arms crossed. “You always think you know best, Tharion”
Tharion’s expression twisted in anger. “ You don’t understand, Torvyn.” Tharion’s hands flexed at his sides, the tendons in his neck pulled taut.
A muscle in Torvyn’s jaw jumped. His knuckles turned white where his fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t,” he warned, the word drawn through his teeth.
“I've done what I had to, I can’t see any other way” Tharion said, his voice rough.
Brahn’s eyes caught Miras, before his voice cut through the haze, edged with something bitter. “Do you think she knows, Tharion? Does she feel it, the way you flinch when she touches you? The way you close your eyes and...”
Tharion’s fist connected with Brahn’s face with a sickening thud. The force of the blow sent Brahn stumbling back, blood blooming at the corner of his mouth. He straightened slowly, a smear of crimson on his lips, and laughed, a hollow, fractured sound. A dark echo in the room, winding through the Emberbane smoke like a serpent.
Brahn lunged, his body a blur of motion. His shoulder crashed into Tharion’s chest, and they tumbled to the marble floor, a mess of fists and snarls. The sharp crack of bone against bone filled the air, and the surrounding crowd hardly noticed, too lost in their own whispered truths and tangled limbs.
Torvyn moved to intervene, his hands grasping at Tharion’s arm, trying to pull him back. But his voice was lost, swallowed by the chaos, and soon he was dragged into the fray. Brahn’s elbow caught him in the ribs.
Mira felt the room closing in around her, the swell of voices rising as the court began to lose itself to Emberbane’s influence. The four men around her were too far gone, their emotions no longer their own. Her eyes snapped to the throne. Caelric sat at its center, his expression a mask of detachment, but then, his gaze flickered. Sharp and searching, darting from face to face. Not dazed. Not lost. A moment of clarity. He was awake. If only for an instant, the fog had parted. The Crowned Betrothed saw everything.
Mira tore free of Ren’s grasp. His hand fell away, and she felt the shift in him immediately. His breath caught a broken, keening sound, and when she glanced back, his face was a twisted mask of pain and panic.
“Mira!” His voice was a rasp, dark and desperate.
He launched toward her with a speed she had not expected. His movements were not graceful but driven by a force beyond reason, beyond restraint. She bolted, her feet slipping slightly against the polished floor. Ren stumbled and fell to the ground.
She had to reach Caelric before Asric got what he needed. The Crowned Betrothed eyes remained open, his lips moving in a slow, silent murmur as he leaned toward Asric. The lord hovered by his side, his posture casual, but there was a razor’s edge to his smile, a serpent’s coil in the curve of his spine. Asric’s hand rested lightly on Caelric’s shoulder, fingers digging in, a grip both possessive and guiding.
The crowd pressed in, their bodies a suffocating wall, but she pushed through, slipping between limbs and silk, ducking beneath outstretched hands. Her heart pounded, a wild rhythm in her ears, drowning out the room’s murmur. Caelric’s eyes flickered across the faces, his lips parting as if to speak, but the words died, his voice caught in the thorns of uncertainty.
Behind her, Mira felt the heat of Ren’s approach, a storm brewing at her back. His footsteps were swift, each one a thunderclap against the cold stone. She could hear the sharp rustle of fabric, the startled gasps. He was shoving his way through the throng without hesitation.
She didn’t dare look back. She couldn’t. If she did, she knew she’d be lost, caught in his gravity, pulled into his orbit. She forced herself forward, every step a struggle against the tide of need bearing down on her. She reached the throne just as Ren lost sight of her in the crush of bodies. His voice cut through the air. A sharp, frantic cry of her name. Asric turned at the sound, his gaze finding Ren.
“Caelric, you need to get out,” she breathed, her voice thin, stretched between reality and the dreamlike haze of the room.
Caelric blinked slowly, his pupils blown wide, “Mira?”
Her vision blurred. Her body swayed, her feet numb against the marble, and before she could catch herself, she was falling.
???
"Why are you telling me this?" Mira asked.
Caelric exhaled slowly. "I had hoped you would understand Mira, That you would see what must be done. That you would submit."
Mira lifted her chin. "Submit?" she echoed, voice razor-sharp.
Caelric moved before she could react. Fire. It seared into her skull. A burning so deep, so all-consuming, that she barely had time to scream before everything vanished.
???
Mira blinked back, but before she could answer, Ren barreled into her, his momentum throwing her forward. His arms wrapped around her waist, ironclad and unyielding. The breath whooshed from her lungs as he dragged her back.
Ren growled toward Caelric, “Don’t touch her.”
Ren's lips brushed against her temple, his breath hot and uneven. His grip tightened, the fabric of her dress pulling taut beneath his fist. She could feel his desperation, the way it twisted through him, a coil of raw fear mixed with desire. Mira’s feet barely touched the ground as he hauled her against him, his arm a band across her waist, the other hand across her shoulders. She twisted, struggling to find her footing, but the Emberbane’s influence and Ren’s overpowering strength turned every movement sluggish, dreamlike.
A shadow slipped into view, and Asric’s voice cut through the air, cool and sharp.
